


The Life and Lies of Garrett Hawke

by Charades



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Murder Mystery, Steampunk, Well...somewhat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charades/pseuds/Charades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the kinkmeme. </p><p>On the list of "Things he never thought would happen", Fenris would put "being framed for Hawke's murder" at number three.</p><p>And then "all the people whom I thought were my friends end up abandoning me" at number two. </p><p>The top spot? "An annoying physician with a liking for everything feline being the only one who thought me murdering Hawke was total baloney."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was shivering. The rain ran down his shirt, his threadbare pants, his broken shoes. A gust of wind rattled the dustbins along the alley, and he curled up underneath a lost piece of sheet, trying to tuck himself out of the wind's path. 

The storm was coming down harder than he'd thought it would be. 

He swallowed. It had been too long since he last ate. Too long since he filched that miserable piece of stale bread from a distracted street vendor. Too long since he got noticed and had to flee into the rabbit's warren of backstreet alleys and dirty cobblestones.

He wished that he'd thought of stealing someone's jacket before he fled. 

Cold. It was too cold. The wind wasn't letting up, and the tarp wasn't going to hold. He tried to curl up even tighter. Just a while more. The rain will let up and he'll be able to escape again.

The sudden slam of a carriage door shocked him out of his reverie. 

"Fenris? Fenris, I know you're here. I won't hurt you, I promise I want to help you. Please."

There was a stunned silence. Fenris tried to stand up. His eyes darted up the walls. No escape there, he knows. 

Maybe if he tried running out of alley, he might be able to escape. Or... or throw a dustbin lid into the man's face. Perhaps knock him out cold. 

MOVE! His mind screamed. He struggled to his feet before his muscles screamed back at him, and he collapsed back onto the floor. 

No... he refused to be caught like this. Caught by Anders, of all people. He wondered what Hawke would say about that? 

"Fenris!"

He started violently. 

The man standing in front of him was familiar in so many ways. His unruly blonde hair was dry under a parasol. Brown eyes stared at him in alarm, in fear and in... pity. 

How dare that man pity him? He, who used to be able to get the better of Anders at every turn? 

"Here to gloat, are you?" Fenris croaked. "I thought you might be the one to find me. Hawke's little lackey... What are you going to do, now that he's dead? Turn me to the cops? Hide me in the cellar and torture me? Go on. Tell me."

"None of those," Anders whispered. 

"Got better ideas on how to get your revenge now, have you? I'll listen. As you can see, I have nothing else to do."

"There's no revenge to be had." Anders knelt in front of him, "I know you didn't do it."

Fenris let out a harsh bark of laughter. 

"You lie. Everyone thought I did. Why should you be any different? Even Varric did. Even Isabela. Even... Sebastian." 

His throat caught on the name. They had all believed it. Who wouldn't have? They knew Fenris valued his freedom. They saw how he had not hesitated when Lord Danarius had showed up to collect him. They knew that it was his own knife that was found embedded in Hawke's heart. 

And they believed that the knife embedded in Hawke's heart had been by his own hand, because they saw Hawke's letter to Danarius. Asking him if he knew a elf called Fenris.   
What they didn't know was that Fenris would have willingly gone back to his servitude if Hawke had wished it. 

He blinked. Funny, he thought that he'd run out of tears to cry. 

"Let me help you, Fenris," Anders pleaded. "You're starved and shivering. You can't fall ill. I mean no harm, I swear."

Fenris stared. Funny, he'd never have thought that those brown eyes could look at him that way. As if he cared. 

Fenris tore his gaze away from him. 

Really, what other choice did he have? He knew the cops would catch him sooner or later. 

He was the one who drilled that sense of efficiency into them, after all. 

"I..." Fenris swallowed, "I won't have long to live and much to live for, anyway. At least I'll be able to die somewhere drier."

Anders looked angrier than he'd ever seen him.

"I would never betray you like that! I meant it when I said I wanted to help! How could you think-"

"Will you stop talking and get me out of this rain, please?" Fenris interrupted his rant, "It's been three days since I last ate, I can't feel my legs, and my behind has turned wrinkled from the rain. At least I'll be dry in a jail cell. "

The man snapped his mouth shut. His contrite but childish expression would have made Fenris laugh at him, once upon a time. Now he couldn't even manage a smirk.

"Sorry," Anders muttered as he bent to help Fenris to his feet. "Here, this way."

Fenris swayed where he stood. Anders gripped him around his waist and led him to the kerb, where a shiny black carriage was waiting. He saw the kitty decals on the door and snorted. 

"I think the shame of arriving at the cops in a cat-emblazoned carriage might actually kill me."

"Shut up." 

 

 

The first thing Fenris saw when he opened his eyes was a cat-patterned ceiling. There were scores and scores of kittens on the ceiling, all frisking and gamboling around an orange-coloured cat, who seemed to be forced into wearing a cape and hat, with a ridiculous feather sticking out at the top. It even had a sabre in its paws, like some sort of knight.

He squeezed his eyes shut. 

Well, that was sickeningly cute. But illuminating.

The question that remained was, why was he on a bed in Anders's house, and not in chains? 

He turned his head slightly. 

Anders was sitting in a plushy armchair, staring at the fireplace. One delicate hand was pressed to his forehead, as if nursing a headache. The other toyed with an empty glass, the liquid within long since consumed. Even from far, it was not difficult to see the general posture of a man deep in thought. 

What he didn't understand was why Anders was staring at a fire and not looking for handcuffs to cuff him with, somewhere.

As if he could hear his thoughts, Anders stirred and glanced at him. 

"You're awake! How do you feel?" 

Fenris considered this.

"Hungry."

"Of course," Anders left the room for a moment and returned with a steaming bowl of soup. The fragrance made his stomach gurgle painfully. "Here you go."

Fenris glared suspiciously at him. 

"What?" Anders snapped. 

Fenris simply shook his head. "Why?"

Anders sighed. "I told you. I believe that you are innocent."

Fenris shook his head, more vehemently than before. 

"There is no reason for you to believe me. The evidence was overwhelming."

"I do not put much stock in circumstantial evidence," Anders sat down heavily beside his bed. "You had no reason to kill Hawke. He was your friend."

Fenris's throat constricted painfully. 

"I know Varric and the others do not believe you," Anders continued. "Though I do not see why. The letter was dated some time before Danarius's arrival, that's true. But Hawke's death took place after Danarius was killed by you. And I do not think that you would throw away all that you've achieved for the pleasure of killing a betrayer. I know you, Fenris... you have been trying to throw off Danarius's shadow for the better part of five years, now. Why would you give him the pleasure of sending you back into hiding?"

"How would you know?" Fenris growled. "How could you know how I feel? You pretend that you know me, but you merely saw me at the times when Hawke threw a party and invited everyone. We have never agreed, on anything. So go and pretend elsewhere."

"You're wrong," Anders stood up, "I know you well enough, and I will not waste time trying to convince you. Will you just eat your soup and trust in the fact that I won't turn you in any time soon? Or ever, really. I would have thought that you'd be somewhat grateful that I'm letting you stay here. In my own guest room, no less." 

Fenris snorted. "Presumptuous as always. But I won't say no to soup. Especially if there is no fish in it."

"It's chicken. Even I am not cruel enough to give you fish soup."

"Thank heavens for small mercies."

Fenris gripped the bowl tightly. The fragrance was almost overwhelming, and he had to remind himself to eat slowly. He remembered all too well what it was like to eat after a period of starvation.

Anders was still looking at him. He knew how pathetic he must look, a gaunt, shivering figure eagerly tucking into a bowl of cheap chicken soup. Skin smelling like the rubbish bins that he'd hidden among in before Anders found him. He could feel how matted his hair was and how his soles were peeling underneath the sheets. Fenris almost pitied the poor servant who had to clean up after him. 

"I'll go run you a bath," Anders muttered, "You're not going to sleep in my guest room like that." 

Fenris watched as he asked for a tub and hot water from a servant outside the door. He watched as a tub was brought in, along with some fluffy towels and some scented soaps. It was when he stood up and tried to move towards it when he realized the problem.

Anders clucked at him and moved to help. "You could have asked for help. Your legs are wobbling like a couple of saplings in a storm."

"I see your new stint with Chinese poetry has made you sound even more pretentious."

"And I see that you've never seen a couple of saplings in a storm. They do wobble something fierce. Now shut it. Can you bathe yourself?"

"Much as I hate to say it, no."

"Fine. Strip and get in."

Fenris did as he was told. "You're helping me? Don't you have servants for this?"

"I would not inflict your company on my servants. You'll make them cry."

"I would not."


	2. Chapter 2

It was painful to bathe. The water made his cuts sting and he winced at how sore his muscles were. He rubbed the dirt gingerly from his arms while behind him, Anders scrubbed gently at his hair. 

"I still don't know why you would help me. But... thank you." 

Anders flushed. 

"Don't thank me, you weren't guilty in the first place. You shouldn't be going through this as it is."

Fenris was silent. Then he asked, "You really think I didn't kill Hawke?"

"Yes," Anders replied as he carefully untangled a particularly vicious snarl of hair. "I know we've never exactly gotten along very well. But I would not leave you to fend for yourself when, well... when everyone turned on you. Especially when I know you did not kill him."

"I... thank you, Anders."

Anders look embarrassed. "That's twice in five minutes now. Are you sure you didn't get brain damage from the rain?" 

"If I did, I would be trying to drown you in the tub right now." 

"I can swim. Are you done?"

Fenris nodded. Anders helped him step out of the tub and proceeded to dry him off with a towel. Fenris couldn't suppress a faint tinge of shame at exposing himself so thoroughly to Anders, but the man didn't seem to mind. His cheeks were slightly pink when he stood up again, though. 

"Here," he said brusquely, as if to hide the fact that he'd been blushing, "Put these on. The servants changed the sheets, so you'll be sleeping in a clean bed, at least."

He obediently did so. Anders led him back to the bed and stuffed him back under the sheets, his warm brown eyes gazing at him. He realized that he did not mind his gaze so much.

"Well... good night. Call for the servants if you need anything."

"Alright."

 

 

Anders couldn't sleep. He knew that it had everything to do with a certain white-haired and snarky elf, residing in the room two doors down from his. The white-haired snarky elf that he'd been dreaming of. For several months in fact.

It was too bad that he'd never been able to convince Fenris about his feelings. Fenris had made it explicitly clear that he did not condone Anders's affiliations with underworld (despite how much Anders tried to convince him that he did not deal with slaves), and he had a very good reason to do so. Everyone knew about how Fenris, as a young elf, had been seized and bought on the black market by Lord Danarius, and how good he was as a hunter and bodyguard. Danarius had bragged frequently about how loyal Fenris was, and the speed with which Fenris brought down his enemies was the stuff of Victorian gossip. In a world where the underworld controlled most of the slave trade and faced no repercussions, it was no wonder that Fenris hated them as much as he did. 

But Fenris didn't stay as Lord Danarius's bodyguard. No, he'd managed to break his hold on him and escape, and no one knew exactly how he had done it or why. Anders could still remember the uproar that had rippled through high class society when Lord Danarius had to appear without his bodyguard. Back then, he'd already thought that the slave trade was vile and despicable, and clearly remembered wishing the escaped slave all the best on his newfound freedom. He'd never have imagined that he'd meet the elf himself, three years later. 

Or to fall for him as hard as he did. 

But really, what was he to do? The bastard had escaped a life of slavery and managed to make a small name for himself in the cops to boot. Granted, he had tried to keep a low profile, but when Danarius came for him, Fenris had sent a knife straight into his heart.

Anders couldn't help it, really. He had a thing for determined, assertive men. Or elves. That could argue with him about... about anything, really. Wine, slavery, Meredith, slavery, cats, slavery. For four straight hours. And throw wine glasses at him in the process.

He especially liked elves with a particularly dashing smirk. And beautiful green eyes. 

He sighed and rolled over. Sleep wouldn't claim him till much later. 

 

 

Two doors down, Fenris couldn't sleep either. 

He knew Anders meant well. Fenris was prepared to accept his generosity for a while, if only to ensure that he was well-fed and prepared before he escaped again. It was too much to hope that the search for him had died down. 

He looked around him. Despite having passed by Anders's stately house several times, he'd never seen the interior. Knowing the man, he wouldn't be surprised if even the wine glasses had cats etched on them. 

Now, he saw that the awful cat-patterned ceiling was the exception to the decor, rather than the norm. The beam of moonlight shining through the curtains illuminated the fine teak furniture and the deep red hues of the thick carpet, all of them cat-free. Beside the table, a carved marble fireplace cradled the remains of the fire, its dying embers still glowing faintly. There was a fur coat thrown casually over the armchair, as if its owner had tossed it aside after arriving home. Fenris realized that the colour matched Anders's brown eyes. 

All in all, there was no sign that the owner of the house was a cat-obsessed physician who occasionally negotiated with the underworld for medicine and supplies. 

He sighed and rolled over. Might as well rest while he can.


	3. Chapter 3

If there was anything to be said about Lord Varric Tethras, it would be 'filthy rich'. ('Short' does come up every so often, but the person who muttered it inevitably received the withdrawal of Varric's favour.) The scion of House Tethras and the head of the Merchant's Guild, Varric was famous for being a cutthroat businessman with a keen eye for trade and a liking for vintage crossbows. (Nobody ever knew why.) 

He was also, as they say it, a little eccentric. 

Right now, for example, he was walking around his mansion with his chest exposed, fondling a certain vintage crossbow (his very favourite) in the most obscene manner. 

It was a good thing his servants were paid to keep silent.

Despite his quirks, however, Varric was loyal to his friends. That was why he was preparing his crossbow for a certain bolt through someone's heart. 

"Hello, Daisy," Varric said as he entered the room.

Merrill looked up from beside the fireplace, her face streaked with tears of grief. Her once-pristine white dress had certainly seen better days, the fabric especially crinkled around her belly. Varric could see a red handkerchief crushed within her hands.

"Oh, Daisy," Varric sighed. He gently laid the crossbow on the table and went to sit beside her. Merrill turned her face into his shoulder and started crying again.

"There, there, let it all out," Varric patted her warmly on the shoulder.

"Oh, Varric..." Merrill hiccoughed, "I still can't believe he's gone."

"I know, Daisy. None of us can."

"Was there any news?"

"No. The rain impeded the search. They'll continue when it lets up. He can't hide for very long," Varric said grimly. 

"But London is huge, and he was one of them, once," Merrill whispered. "He knows how to hide. Remember how long he hid for before he found us, years and years ago?"

"This time, he won't get away. I gave you my word," Varric said firmly. "He'll pay for this if that's the last thing he does."

Merrill turned to face the fire. Its dying embers flickered hypnotically, casting strange and fantastic shadows on the walls. The room was very dark. 

"That's good," Merrill said. 

"I want him to burn." 

 

 

Anders woke up the next morning feeling markedly more refreshed than yesterday. The good thing about Sundays, he decided, was that everybody went to church. Well, everybody except for him. He knew what the entire neighborhood said about his absence from church - hell, he'd had many of his patients try to persuade him to go with them. Something about the Lord wanting to see his flock, or something. 

It never made a difference. Anders knew he needed the short sleep-in on Sundays to keep him going. He's pretty certain the Lord won't begrudge him that. 

A muffled crash came from down the corridor. _Damn, Fenris._

He immediately threw on a robe and hurried down the corridor. 

His suspicions were confirmed upon opening the door. Fenris was poised at the window, one leg thrown over the sill and the other barely touching the carpet. Wearing Anders's own coat, no less! The elf in question started and tried to climb out when Anders poked his head in, seemingly not caring about how the window was three stories off the ground. 

"And just _where_ do you think you're going?" Anders snapped, "You're not leaving without a proper goodbye, at least."

"Well. Goodbye, then," Fenris muttered as he tried to keep his footing on the ledge outside. 

"That's it?" Anders demanded. "Are you crazy? Where are you going to go? And you've barely recovered, I heard a thump somewhere... ah," his eyes fell upon the mess that used to be a bedside lamp. "You walked right into this, didn't you?"

"It was inconveniently placed, and therefore not my fault."

"It was RIGHT BESIDE YOUR BED. Either you had a fit last night and overturned it then, or you nearly fell when you stood up this morning and brought it down with you. And it can't be the former, because that loud crash just happened-" Anders glanced at the antique clock, "two minutes ago. Good grief, Fenris. As a physician, I can't let you out of the house. Much less jump out of a window."

Fenris seemed unwilling to move from his spot. But then again, he wasn't jumping out yet, so Anders seized his chance. 

"Listen to me, Fenris. Your house is under surveillance. They're got people watching it. There are wanted posters with your face all over London. Where will you go?"

"I don't know," Fenris muttered. "Somewhere. Anywhere. Just not London. It's not safe here."

Anders sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot these days. 

"Why don't you... just stay here?" At Fenris's look of surprise and instant suspicion, he hastily added, "I'm not keeping you here or anything! It's just that, well. No one would think of you hiding in someone's house. You should've seen the publicity. They're making you public enemy number one, so... they've basically ensured that no one would want to shelter you."

Fenris's face turned bitter again. "So I've basically got no choice, then."

"You do have a choice. I'm just saying... if you stay here, you can start working on Hawke's case, instead of hiding. No one will harass you. And I promise you'll never see fish for dinner. Please?" 

Fenris hesitated. Ander offered his hand tentatively to him. Not too close, not too far. Fenris could reject it if he wanted to. 

Fenris simply stared at the hand. 

For a second, Anders thought Fenris was going to jump out of the window anyway. His body was poised to leap; the hand that was gripping the windowsill was as nearly pale as his hair. Anders could almost see the indecision radiating off him. 

There was a sudden blast of a police siren in the distance. 

Startled, Fenris leapt away from the windowsill. Anders was equally startled and immediately leaned forward to slam the window shut, to keep out the noise that was affecting Fenris so. What neither of them expected, however, was for Fenris to suddenly wobble on his legs and crash right into Anders's chest. Or for Anders to automatically close his arms around him. 

There was a split-second of silence. 

This was immediately followed by a loud curse and the two of them springing apart as fast as possible. Fenris landed on the bed and nearly toppled over. Anders, due to the lack of a bed, fell right on the carpet. 

"What was THAT for?" Anders demanded.

"You're asking me? You put your arms around me!" Fenris accused.

"Well, excuse me if I was trying to break your fall! If you hadn't noticed, you're still not strong enough to stand!"

"Do not coddle me, Anders!"

"It's not coddling if there's irrefutable proof that you can't stand," Anders growled as he sat up, rubbing painfully at his backside.

"And why do you bother? You've never cared before," Fenris sneered, "What brought about this sudden compassion? Delight at seeing me weak, perhaps?"

"Oh, for God's ever-loving sake," Anders snarled, "I'm trying to keep you safe, you stubborn elf! The whole London's out looking for you! Even Varric and the others are looking for you! I'm trying to keep you safe before they find and kill you, you nitwit! For once in your life, why can't you accept that -" 

"Varric and the others are trying to _kill me_?" Fenris looked stunned. 

"You mean you didn't know? Yes, they are. I don't know why they're suddenly so bent on revenge, but I suspect Merrill has something to do with it. She was pretty broken up over Hawke's death." 

The elf looked anguished. Despite his previous anger, Anders felt sorry for him. He knew Fenris had considered them his closest friends. 

Carefully, he placed a hand on Fenris's shoulder. Fenris flinched but did not throw it off. 

"That's why I'm asking you to stay with me," Anders said, "They think I hate you, they won't come looking here. I made sure that my servants are loyal to me." 

Anders rubbed his temples. 

"You were a constable once, Fenris. You can solve this case, and they'll see that they've been wrong. I'll help you. "

Fenris did not respond. Anders hesitated, then withdrew from the room. He called for the servants to bring up some breakfast, then started getting ready for his rounds.

Inside the room, the elf did not move.


	4. Chapter 4

Three hours later, Anders wished fervently that he'd never chosen Medicine as a career choice.

"I'm afraid there's nothing much I can do, Sir Gamlen," Anders said quickly to the furious patient. "The silver nitrate I used can only do so much against the Great Pox. You'd best be more careful from now on. Good-bye."

Doffing his hat hurriedly, Anders ran out of the house before the angry man could throw anything at him. Judging by the loud thump that came from the house two seconds after, he knew that the door hadn't been as lucky. _Really_ , he thought. 

Sighing, he readjusted his hat. Sometimes he loved his work. Other times, well. He happened to like his head very much and did not appreciate things being hurled at it. 

He climbed into the black carriage that sat waiting for him at the kerb. If there was anything good about his job, Anders mused, it was the fact that he could afford a steam-powered vehicle of his very own. He didn't look it, but he adored the shiny black vehicle like a baby. 

And why shouldn't he? Anders thought proudly. It was a thing of beauty. Elegant and shiny, everything from the carved wooden inlay to the wrought iron steering wheel spoke of hours and hours of fine craftsmanship. It looked similar to the horse-drawn carriages that the less wealthy use, but the carriage (he really should start calling it something else - how about shortening it to 'car'?) ran on its very own, fueled by nothing more than coal and water. Much better than a horse. 

Because Anders wasn't fond of any animal that was larger than he was. 

"Uh, begging pardon, sir, but do you feel alright? You've been sitting there and touching them wheels for five minutes now."

"Oh!" _Damn, was it that long?_ "No, I'm fine, I'll just be heading off now, yes, nothing to worry about." 

Smiling meekly at the confused constable, Anders started the carriage and drove off, the vehicle emitting little puffs of steam as it went. 

 

 

Fenris was curled up in the corner of the guest room when he heard the click of the door opening.

"Fenris." He heard Anders speak hesitantly to him. "The servants tell me that you haven't eaten anything since I left."

Fenris curled more tightly around himself. 

"I'm not hungry." 

"Does this have anything to do with... with what you heard this morning?"

A shudder passed through him. "Perhaps."

A silence. 

Then he felt the presence of a warm body beside him.

"Varric and the others are fools," Anders said calmly from beside Fenris. "But we're all fools once in a while. Varric killed when he felt that his brother had betrayed him. Isabela killed when she thought she was going to be captured. Sebastian killed when his family died. I... I killed too, when my patients were threatened, once."  
Fenris didn't move.

"Hawke was what held us together. We all cared for him, we all loved him. That's why his death made them all act like fools."

He felt Anders put a hand on his shoulder. Fenris fought off the urge to shrug it off. The warmth felt... faintly comforting.

"I'm not saying that they're mistaken. But they don't know the whole story yet, Fenris. And until they do, their actions are not completely their own. It is not your fault."

_But_ , Fenris's mind whispered to him, _it WAS his fault._

Never mind that it seemed as though Hawke had betrayed him. His failure will remain with him for the rest of his life, because Hawke, the first man who treated Fenris like he was anything of worth, is dead. 

Fenris's breath caught. 

He had never stopped blaming himself for his sister's death. For all his vigilance as a bodyguard, he is still a fool, he thought bitterly. A fool who never realized that the man who bought him, trained him and crooned at him was abusing his sister. A fool who never saw the blooming bruises on her arms, underneath her shirt. 

A stupid, thick-headed, absolute _fool_ who never saw anything, until he saw Danarius snap her neck for being pregnant. With his child.

It was like being underwater and suddenly realizing that you couldn't swim. Realizing that the water was actually a lot deeper than you thought. The guilt, the horror, it sank down on him and he couldn't breathe. Even now, he couldn't see a flash of red hair without remembering the unnatural angle of her neck, and how pale she looked in death.  
He swore that he'd get his revenge. He swore that no one else would hurt the people he cared about, ever again. 

So far, he'd only accomplished one of them. Because Hawke had died, and he had failed again. 

Fenris didn't realize that he was shaking until he felt a warm arm draw him close. Anders was murmuring soothing words into his ears, his hand rubbing small circles into his back. Anders was stroking his hair softly as he trembled, his eyes spilling over with unshed tears. Anders was holding him close. 

Fenris cried.


	5. Chapter 5

Looking back, Anders could say that that was when their friendship truly began. Fenris came back to himself, and while Anders was extremely curious as to what could have made Fenris cry, he knew that the elf would tell him in his own time. One step at a time.

Despite his protests, Fenris moved into his cellar. He could hide better down here, he said. Easier for him to organize his thoughts.

Oh, and also, get easy access to Anders's supply of wine.

The cunning _bastard_.

Anders wasn't complaining, though. He'd give a lot more than his entire wine collection if it meant that Fenris would stay with him.

He had to put his foot down on one front, though.

"You are not heading out like that," was the first thing Anders said, when he caught Fenris with his hand on the front door knob, dressed like a hunter with a knife strapped to his back.

"What are you, my mother?" Fenris snapped back at him.

"No, a friend. And friends don't let friends walk around looking like _that_ ," Anders tsked at him. "I know you want to investigate the mansion, and I know it's night, but dear Lord. You're practically asking to be stared at. Here, come with me."

He led Fenris to his room and looked him up and down.

"The thing is, you stand out, what with your hair and ears and all. It'd be better if you could blend in. Here, try these on, and I'll see what we can do about your hair."

The next few hours were filled with exasperated muttering and lots of cursing. Fenris threatened to dye Anders's face black when Anders had (rashly) asked him if cutting off the tips of his ears were an option. Anders retaliated by forcing Fenris into the most ridiculous chartreuse waistcoat he owned and laughed himself silly while Fenris tried to get it off, his ears glowing like the setting sun.

It was the most fun Anders had had in _ages_.

The result was worth the trouble, though. Fenris stood hesitantly in front of the mirror, dressed in a ruffled white shirt and black waistcoat with a bow tie to match. His distinctive white hair was coal black, combed a little differently to hide the tips of his ears. The trousers were a little loose on his skinny frame, but it didn't detract much from his overall appearance. Anders couldn't help staring.

"Oh my," he said reverently as he circled around him. "You've been depriving the ladies of London, Fenris. This may not be such a good idea after all. I don't think anybody can keep their eyes off you for long."

To his great surprise, Fenris's cheeks turned pink. Funny, he didn't think he'd ever seen the man look embarrassed before.

"Are we done?" Fenris said gruffly as he turned away. "We've wasted so much time."

"Nearly," Anders said, as he pulled the velvet overcoat over Fenris's shoulders. "You are really very thin, Fenris. It's a good thing this one is adjustable... Done."

"It's a little tight," Fenris huffed.

"Shush. You look perfect! See, it shows off your body, and while I think it's too skinny, I can't deny that it is a very nice figure, along with your shoulders and bottom and... I'll just shut up now. Yes?"

Fenris, whose face was the exact same colour as the basket of apples in the kitchen, nodded mutely.

"Well, we're done," Anders said. "Can... Would you mind if I came along? I can bring you there and back, it's quite far, unless...?"

"I don't mind," Fenris said quickly.

"Brilliant. Give me some time to change, and then we'll be off."

 

 

Life settled into a routine. Anders did his rounds in the mornings and accompanied Fenris at nights. Under the cover of darkness, with a top hat to conceal his ears and a high collar to hide most of his face, Fenris was able to pass himself off as a wealthy, mysterious gentleman with an interest in Hawke's sprawling mansion. Standing with Anders beside him, no one would have thought of him as the gaunt, vicious murderer depicted in the 'Wanted' signs around London.

That didn't mean that the investigation was easy, however.

From what he had gathered, the police had swept the mansion and removed all the evidence. That meant that he had to break into the station to get them back. The theft weighed more heavily on his conscience than he would have liked, but he pushed it aside. There were more important things to attend to.

Such as retrieving the letter, for example.

Anders was adamantly against him stealing the evidence by himself. In fact, he had threatened Fenris that if he were to set foot anywhere near the station, he would ensure that Fenris received nothing but fish for three whole days.

Fenris agreed to let Anders take care of retrieving the evidence.

He tried not to think about why Anders was being protective of him.

 

 

Anders watched nervously as the urchin he'd hired slithered up the drainpipe to peer into the upstairs window. Apparently assured that no one was watching him, he began to pick at the lock with the skill and precision of an experienced thief. Anders couldn't help but be worried that he'd unknowingly started a young burglar's career.

He'd done many unmentionable things in his youth, but corrupting children was not one of them.

"Done," the boy whispered as he climbed back down. Anders gave him a nod of thanks and some money before the urchin scampered off.

That was when Anders realized that he'd have to climb up the drainpipe himself.

He gulped. The window was three floors off the ground, and he'd treated children who fell from such windows before. They all had broken legs.

There was no other way around it. Taking a deep breath, Anders wrapped his hands around the fragile-looking pipe and slowly pulled himself off the ground.

Despite a somewhat alarming whine, the pipe held. Anders breathed a sigh of relief as he made his way up the wall, gripping windowsills as he passed to save the pipe the strain of his weight. A particularly sharp windowsill caught his arm as he passed, and he winced in pain. Gritting his teeth, he made his way up to the elusive window, which was already open and waiting for him.

He managed to squeeze through the narrow gap. Flexing his injured arm, Anders looked around, allowing his eyes to adjust in the darkness. From the moonlight filtering in through the window, he could just make out the sheer amount of shelves arranged around the room, each of them carrying mountains of evidence from every recent case, no doubt. Taking care to stay as far from the door as possible, Anders lit a match quietly and moved closer to one of the shelves.

He recoiled hastily at sight of a wicked-looking dagger, barely three inches from his nose. The curved blade gleamed in the dim light of the match, showing off the intricate symbols etched into the shiny metal. Anders could see dried blood in the cracks of the symbols, as though both blood and dagger were revealing some horrendous sort of prophecy for his eyes alone. Heart hammering, he managed to catch the date on the label before his match went out.

That explains the slightly metallic smell in the air, then.

Still shaking slightly, Anders lit another match and moved to the next shelf. Going by the date, it wasn't long before he found both the letter and Fenris' knife.

He worked quickly. The letter he rolled up and slid into a tube he'd brought for safekeeping. The knife he placed inside a padded wooden box. Both of them went into the pack strapped to his back.

He then replaced the items with a replica knife and a piece of paper. Granted, they're not very good imitations, but they'll at least keep the constables from looking twice at that area on the shelf.

Anders grinned at his handiwork. Not bad for a beginner, he thought.

He climbed back out of the window.


	6. Chapter 6

Fenris was on his feet the moment he heard the click of the front door. 

"How did it go?" 

"Brilliantly, of course," Anders replied as he slung the pack over his shoulder. "I'm pretty certain no one saw me. Had a near death experience when a murderous dagger chose me as the next sacrifice, but I managed to evade it."

Fenris raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, _fine_. I nearly screeched, if you must know. And got cut on a nasty windowsill. Nothing else."

"You got cut? Where?"

"My left arm," Anders gestured at it. "It's not very deep, and it's a clean cut, so it should heal-" He paused when Fenris got up and started rummaging around. "Fenris, what are you doing?"

The elf set down a basin of water on the table. "Cleaning it."

"Well, I... thanks."

Anders watched in fascination as Fenris carefully rolled up his bloody sleeve. The cut stood in stark contrast to the pale skin around it; fresh blood was already starting to ooze out again. 

Fenris was exceedingly gentle. Dried bloodstains on his arms were carefully wiped away with a wet cloth, the fabric smooth and warm against his skin. The smear of blood that peeked out from the inside of his elbow (almost like a maiden's rogue lipstick mark) was carefully rubbed away as well, leaving nothing but a vague sense of warmth behind. 

Anders winced when Fenris dabbed at the cut with antiseptic. Really, as a doctor, he should be more used to this sort of thing. It was what he did to other people on a daily basis, after all. 

Fenris was looking at him. "Are you alright?"

Anders nodded. "Yes. Just a bit sensitive, that's all."

Then he watched, utterly intrigued by the deep flush that appeared on the elf's cheek. 

Fenris was blushing! As a result of _his_ words!

If there was a street painter still working at this hour, Anders would have paid them an obscenely large sum of money to capture this moment for him. In the dim light, blush painting his face, Fenris looked years younger that he usually did, shy and lovely. But despite his reddened face, he was resolutely not looking anywhere near the direction of Anders' face as he snugly wrapped the arm in folds of bandage. 

"There. Done."

Anders stood up. Fenris was busy tidying the table, watching him carefully out of the corners of his eyes. He snapped his gaze away when Anders looked back at him. 

Sighing, Anders reached over and gently placed a hand under his chin, turning the elf towards him. Fenris looked up at him, his eyes wide with apprehension, his hands splayed with alarm - Taking a chance, Anders lowered his face and kissed him gently on the lips. 

 

 

At first, he thought he might have made a mistake. Fenris squirmed and pulled back, his face shocked, and Anders was about to drop his hands and beg for forgiveness when Fenris stepped into his arms and kissed him full on the lips, with a passion that made his knees buckle. 

Anders had dreamt about this before. Many, many times, in fact. But they all paled in comparison to this moment, right now, with Fenris was warm in his arms, running his devious hands up and down his back, attacking his lips with a fervour that slammed Anders against a wall. The elf was relentless in his assault - warm fingers were creeping up his shirt, tracing the curves of muscle and seeking out the tender spots that he didn't even know he had. 

A rough pinch at his nipple and Anders couldn't help it - he moaned deeply into the kiss, running his hands through the elf's soft hair. He could feel Fenris smile, hear the warm chuckle that bubbled from sensuous lips - with a growl, Anders leaned forward and nipped at the soft skin beneath his graceful, pointed ears. Nips that elicited a low groan from the elf when Anders ran his tongue across the velvet ridges, nibbling at the unresisting flesh, caressing the warm muscles of his biceps. 

"Bed," Anders muttered.

Anders lifted him into his arms, and _God_ , he nearly dropped him again when Fenris sucked at the sensitive junction between his neck and shoulder. Shuddering, he took the stairs as fast as he could, laying him gently down on the bed before roughly unbuttoning his clothes.

Fenris sat up and looked at him, his harlequin eyes dark with want as he watched Anders wage a furious war with a particularly difficult button. Anders saw him smirk. 

The elf laid back with casual grace and extended a hand slowly down to his trousers, unbuttoning them with ease. Then it ran over his body, crumpling his shirt, pushing off his trousers, touching, feeling the curves of muscle on himself. Anders saw him push a hand slowly into his underclothes. Anders saw the green eyes staring at him, pupils blown with desire. 

Then, with a mischievous quirk of his lips, Anders saw Fenris start rubbing himself, moaning softly as his body twisted in the sheets. 

Anders nearly tore open his expensive trousers in his haste to get them off. 

"You _minx_ ," Anders growled, throwing off the last of his clothes as he scrambled towards the bed. "You, you absolute _minx_. Looking at me like that... making _sounds_ like that... My God, do you have any idea how you look right now? How utterly-"

Fenris silenced him with another kiss - and another, and another, and many, many more. Anders was breathless, he wasn't sure if he was dreaming as Fenris ran his fingers through his hair, and god, how did he know that it turned him on like nothing else ever could? This was madness, this was heaven, he couldn't think straight, not with those slender fingers inching between his legs and setting everything on fire.

Fenris smiled mischievously at him. 

Anders retaliated by flipping him over and trapping the elf beneath him. Teeth bared in a snarl, Anders took him apart, the gruff, sarcastic elf falling open to reveal the ravished, moaning elf writhing beneath him, begging him to please, _please_ get a move on as his hips started bucking of their own accord. He looked utterly beautiful like this, with his muscles coiled and head thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut under the torrent of sensations from his body. Anders could feel an answering call of desire from his own. 

The loud groan that Fenris released when he slid his finger in nearly pushed him over the edge. Panting, Anders inserted one more, scissoring them as Fenris bucked and keened beneath him, his hands clawing lines of red down the expanse of Anders' back. 

Breathing heavily, Anders withdrew his fingers and tried to slick himself up as much as he could. There is surely a better lubricant in the house somewhere, but he didn't think he could wait. From the looks (and sounds) of it, it seems like Fenris couldn't, either.

The push inside nearly undid him again - Fenris was so warm and so tight and he was panting in earnest now, his impatient hands pulling Anders towards him, taking care not to hurt his wound as his lips found Anders' in a raw, feral kiss. Anders moaned, running his hands over the taut, smooth planes of the elf's body as it adjusted to him, fitting them together like a lock and it's missing key. 

Panting, Anders began to move. Fenris pushed back at him with every thrust, his body eager for friction as his legs locked Anders flush against his body, again and again. There was no coyness of seduction now, no more bait and switch - the world melted away, leaving nothing behind but the slap of skin on skin, the moans of two people in ecstasy, and the feel of Fenris beneath him, wanting his touch as much as Anders wanted his. 

Nothing in his life could ever compare to this. 

Fenris tensed beneath him, then threw his head back with a shout as a burst of warmth erupted between them. His body tightened around Anders - then Anders himself was seeing stars too, muffling his groan in the elf's shoulder as his body chased its completion. With a last, shuddering pant, he pulled out of Fenris and collapsed beside him.  
The elf was staring at the streaks across his belly, as though unsure of himself. Anders drew out an old rag from a beside drawer and gently wiped him clean. 

The elf looked at him. 

"Sleep," Anders said to him, and smiled. His hand brushed the elf's jaw in a gentle caress.

Fenris slept.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I'm finally freed from the evil clutches of school and work. And I came back and realized that I didn't post half the stuff I wrote for this story. So now I'm slowly uploading again, and I'm hoping to have this story finished before my summer holidays end, at any rate. Thanks for reading!

Fenris awoke with a start.

He was in a strange room, confined by a warm weight. Don't panic, don't panic, he thought frantically as he tried to pull himself out. Where were his weapons? Where were his-

"Mm... Fenris?"

Oh. 

Anders was looking back at him, hair mussed as he blinked his eyes in the bright light of the morning. His arms were holding the elf gently, legs tangled with his as he shook his head and brushed a lock of hair out of the elf's eyes. The frantic squirming must have woken him.

"What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," he stammered back. "I just- I wasn't used to- This. Waking up with someone beside me."

Anders frowned. He stroked the elf's hair softly as Fenris tried to calm his breathing, murmuring reassurances into the elf's pointed ear. 

It still took a while before Fenris relaxed back into his arms.

"So..." Anders said hesitantly. "This is not normal for you, I take it."

Fenris closed his eyes. "No, it's not. I've... never done it before."

"Well," Anders said, as his thumb rubbed soft circles into the elf's hip, "I can't say that I'm not happy about that. Being the first person who got to wake up with his arms full of you."

"You like it?"

"Of course I do."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence.

"We should get up."

"I know." 

"You have a knife and a letter to examine."

"You have your rounds."

"My patients will do fine if I go in a little bit late," Anders smiled as he drew patterns on the elf's skin. "In fact, some of them might be happy if I didn't show up at all."

Fenris didn't answer. 

"Fenris?"

The elf rolled over in his arms. Anders saw that he was frowning slightly, chewing his bottom lip into an angry red colour. Hesitantly, Fenris asked, "Do you know about my knife? The one I always carry around, the one that... that turned up in Hawke's mansion?" 

"Yes. I wondered how it got there," Anders murmured as he stared at the intense red of the elf's lip. He was not going to kiss him now, not when Fenris looked so apprehensive about something. He was not.

"I left it there. After we... That is to say, I...Oh, god damn it." He snarled. Taking a deep breath, he started again. 

"You know that we killed Danarius the night before the murder. I went up to Hawke's mansion that night, intending to talk to him over a bottle of wine, like we always do. I felt... hollow, even after killing him, and Hawke tried to cheer me up. So we drank a bit more than usual."

"We ended up in bed, Hawke and I," Fenris said, his eyes fixed upon a point on Anders' shoulder. "Merrill wasn't home, she was visiting Isabela, who had docked a few hours ago."

"Hawke was... a little rough. The wine had dulled both our senses. I don't remember much of it, except for dressing in a hurry while Hawke told his chauffeur my address. I didn't realize that the knife wasn't in my sheath until I was nearly home."

Anders watched him quietly, his hand warm around the elf's. Fenris spoke in a monotone, his voice dry and unfeeling. 

"I returned the next night to retrieve it. I would have gone earlier, but Hawke is never home in the day. Bodahn let me in as usual, so I didn't think anything was wrong. I passed by Merrill on one of the lower floors. She looked cheerful, busy with the design of a new room in the house." 

Fenris sighed.

"I saw him when I entered the room. He was sprawled on the floor, I could see my knife sticking out of his chest even from the doorway. I ran in, of course. Checked for his breathing, but he was dead by then. 

Then I saw the letter on the floor. It was short, I couldn't help it - I glanced at it and saw my name, and I saw that it was addressed to Danarius at the top."

Anders gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. 

"I heard Merrill coming up the stairs, asking Hawke about painting the walls in the new room. She froze at the doorway. Then she gasped and ran in and turned him over - and my knife was there, clear as day.

She screamed for help as she tried to revive him. She saw me as I tried to back out of the room, and she accused me of murder. I tried to convince her otherwise, but she would not listen, and tried to attack me. I struck in retaliation. I think I bruised her cheek. She fell back and I broke a window and ran."

Anders watched the elf swallow uncomfortably, his shoulders tight with tension. He waited, but Fenris did not speak any more.

"I believe you," Anders said quietly, and Fenris let out a shaky breath, his body relaxing slightly. Watching him, Anders wondered. How many times had he replayed that scene in his head, and regretted what he did? He knew Fenris well enough that the elf would take the blame for leaving the knife behind. 

He drew the elf into his arms. Fenris buried his face in his chest. 

They stayed in bed the whole morning.


	8. Chapter 8

_Danarius:_

_Thank you for the prompt shipment. It should last me for the next few months or so - I will contact you when I need more._

_Do you remember your escaped slave, Fenris? I have information on him._

_Hawke_

___

The Underworld. Also known as the Neath. Said to be hidden in the darkness of the various rookeries scattered throughout the city, it was rumoured to be dirty and lawless and full of deviants. If you ever needed a place to hide a dirty crime or to procure certain unmentionable items that no respectable man or woman would ever want, then that's the place for you.

The Neath has seen its fair share of righteous citizens. Every parliament meeting starts with a complaint about the Neath, every meeting ends with a promise to do something about it. It goes on year after year, and quite frankly, everyone knows that they've all but given up. The Neath never dies, its members as slippery as the eels that the slums are so famous for.

Nowadays, many see it as akin to having a criminal for a relative - it cannot be helped, it's embarrassing, sometimes dangerous, and definitely not spoken of in polite company.

The Neath is everywhere and nowhere.

___

The Neath has a very bad smell, Fenris thought privately.

They were standing outside a nondescript wooden door. After staring at the Hawke's letter for the two whole days and not finding anything useful, Fenris had asked Anders to find one of Hawke's known underworld contacts, to see if he had any leads, and Anders had found one. After a five hour argument on the justice of persecuting potential slavers (he sided with that one) and its possible bad effects on non-slavers (Anders sided with this), they'd reached a compromise on how to approach the issue.

Fenris was allowed to report slaver activity if (and only if) there was clear evidence that the person in question was indeed a slaver. Such evidence included (but is not limited to): dragging a man around in chains (with the intention to own him), buying slaves, and addressing a man as a slave (Fenris assured Anders that he'd be able to tell. Anders, not wanting another argument, allowed it to pass.)

Which was how Fenris found himself walking in a small neighborhood somewhere on the outskirts of London with Anders, several hours later.

The area had a distinctly gloomy feel to it - everything from the drab, whitewashed fences to the mangy cat prowling through the rubbish bins spoke of some kind of hardship. Some scrawny urchins were huddled in an dark alley, whispering furiously at each other. A curtain fluttered briefly in the night air, and Fenris glimpsed a sharp pair of eyes scrutinizing him before they blinked and vanished within the depths of the house.

The entire place - houses, zigzagging roads, even the innocuous fence - made him feel distinctly unwelcome.

"There we are," Anders said, as they stepped in front of a small house.

The door in front of them was plain and slightly chipped. There was a small pot of wilted flowers on the dirty windowsill, which looked like they'd given up on their assigned mission of combating the stench and simply committed suicide. Fenris wondered briefly if the smell, which seemed to be coming from this house, was poisonous.

Beside him, Anders took a breath (and choked a little) before knocking tentatively on the door.

There was no response.

Fenris tapped his foot.

"Uh... He might be busy. Give him a while," Anders said nervously.

"He may not be home," Fenris pointed out. "We did not exactly enquire beforehand."

"Oh, I hope not... What was that?"

A series of metallic clicks resounded in the silent night air. They watched, apprehensively, as the door slid open to reveal a black-haired elf, who was carrying a dagger and looking suspiciously at them.

"Good day, uh, Mr... Tomwise?" Anders cracked a nervous smile and extended his hand. "I am Anders, and this is Fenris. We're working on... something, and we think you can help us with it."

The elf ignored the hand and peered at Fenris.

"You, I don't trust," he said simply. "I have seen Anders around, but you... you are a constable. Or were."

Fenris glared. "How did you know who I was?"

"I have my means, and I need to keep myself safe," Tomwise replied, still looking intently at him. "I need your assurance that you will not harm me or reveal me, if I were to let you into my house."

"If you can know so much, then you must already know that I do not have the means to do anything to you," Fenris replied bitterly.

"Very well." The elf cast him another speculative look before stepping back and holding the door open. Anders withdrew his hand and gave an awkward cough before stepping inside. After some hesitation, Fenris followed him.


End file.
